Summer's Here!

Here we are on the Bank Holiday weekend— Memorial Day weekend— the beginning of the summer season and the weather has started out brilliantly over here. Dreams of weeding and planting, planting and weeding fill my head. A barbeque or two are added for good measure, along with the traditional afternoon gin-laced Pims for medicinal purposes. Ahhhhh — *hic!* — lovely....

Our backyard grows diligently. In the nursery, I'm sprouting summer's essential sunflowers, sweet smelling spock (no relation to the Vulcan), green peppers, lupin (my husband's favorite), and corn flowers (porque me de la gana)— along with a multitude of aging avocados that I didn't have the heart to throw the seeds away (very Cuban).

In our allotment section at the bottom of the garden, we've planted broad beans (aka big ol' lima beans), rhubarb (tangent: leaves are poisonous but the stalks make an orgasmic crumble [dessert] according to hubby), and old potatoes (remember chippology?). Those accidentally started to sprout in the pantry and I saw a golden opportunity for an experiment. Incredibly enough, they didn't get blight or mold to the surprise of my husband.

(Potatoes are also are unintentionally growing in the compost heap. Frisky little buggers, aren't they?)

Unlike my finely manicured next door neighbor's yard, ours is a working experiment. Ne'er a year goes by without something different growing. Last year it was weeds. This year, its vegetables.

Speaking of my neighbor— bless him— he's always puttering about. Normally its something to do with bricks and paving only because he lucratively does that for a living, On occasion however (albeit unnecessary) he'll do a bit of weeding. Nice fellow, but doesn't stop for a moment. Oftentimes we'll hear him hauling a heavy thingymebob or another in the wee mornin' on any given day. Thankfully, the birds make a louder racket.

Complementary, their back yard is very inviting and peacefully entertaining— quite a feat when you have two young children. Play houses, toys, and the odd rabbit hutch meander through the civility of ornate lawn furniture. I do however have a sneaking suspicion that he and his wife live vicariously through our veggie gardening attempts. In the beginning, when I started to lay out my digging lines, I'd hear a voice over the fence, "Saw ye diggin'. Watya plantin' taday?" Frankly I wasn't sure if that was an attempt to keep abreast of my obscure planting habits or genuine curiosity. But I tried answering as best I could.

Admittedly, my answers are a bit obscure only because I don't know what the hell I'm doing. Y'see, I too am what ya call a seedling— a transplanted, transferred, formerly closeted couch gardener. I used to live imaginatively through gardening books and catalogues.

But not anymore.

Now I'm trying to put all those years of gathered information into use... albeit with lots of effort. I've lost a few plants. I've killed a few (sorry). And even those blasted aphids have taken some. But it doesn't stop me from continually trying. When I'm in a horticultural bind, the internet is a huge source of information— even if my husband thinks its rubbish.

"Nahhhh that's a load of hogwash." when he sees me coddling a seedling. "Jus' chuck 'em inna ground."

"Hmmmm that's a bit rough...", I think, as I secretly tuck it into its bedding. Then again, there might be something in what he says. He's always lived in the country— they even teach horticulture in schools still. What's to doubt? Stubbornly though, I'm optimistic that my internet-fired gardening strategies and me will be able to gloat when it comes to harvest.

...assuming we get there....